From Afar
by Ai Tennshi
Summary: A certain noble woman thought she had love figured out. But then she saw Nadja's...and realized she was wrong.


_Disclaimer: I own nothing recognizable from Ashita no Nadja._

From Afar

I'm generally quiet and serene—the picture of a model noble woman. I never give myself over to anything inappropriate, I never raise my voice, I'm always dutiful to family…

But that's my exterior. I don't actually let that much of me out to the surface. For instance, Father never knew I was being courted by a man who was no noble. Nor did he ever know when I was wavering between two men.

And no one knows that I watch. I watched in pain as my fiancé of a nobleman flirted with one girl after another. I had known him since childhood, and knew that he would see me as no more than a wife, even after we were married—a wife by law only, no love or affection involved beyond friendship. That ended up swaying me towards a man who wasn't even a noble when he started to court me. He showered me with attention, and I loved that. But as time went by, both of them grew to love me for me. So I had to choose.

My choice was hard, but in the end, I was always going to make the same choice anyway. At that point, though I knew that they both loved me, I loved only one. I thought that in all cases, a choice between men would be this way. Two men love the woman, and the woman has but to choose the one that she loves. The decision would be particularly difficult only in the instance the man that she loves doesn't love her as much as the other man.

But I was wrong.

I didn't find out until a few years after I'd grown acquainted with Nadja. She came to visit me often with Troupe Dandelion, and spoke of all manner of things.

She had once told me that she was swaying between two men, and I was under the impression that she chose Francis Harcourt. But one day, I learned that that was wrong. It all began with a single question one day:

"So…Nadja, how have things been with Master Francis?"

The vase that she had been holding—she was helping me to reorganize my chambers—slipped from her hands and shattered on the floor. She hastily apologized, over and over again, and I told her that it didn't matter, over and over again, and as I called in a maid to clean up the pieces and Nadja and I spoke of other things, I forgot the matter altogether.

But that night, I couldn't sleep. The wind was raging at the windows, making them rattle loudly. The sound kept me from sleep, and I thought back on my conversation with Nadja in an attempt to distract myself from the sound. So it was that I remembered to her reaction to my question.

I was confused. The first thought that came to mind was that they must have had a fight of some sort, but the look on her face wasn't one of pain or loss—it was one of confusion, just like on the day that she had first told me that she was wavering between two men.

Eventually, my ears grew accustomed to the unyielding shudders of the windows, and I dozed off.

So yesterday, I asked her about it. I made sure to wait until there was nothing valuable in her hands—I hadn't forgotten the vase—and then asked. This time, she just sighed as though she had expected the question, and then told me the story.

Before I heard her story, I thought that my love story was exciting and unusual. But hers…hers was far beyond my own.

Two men who looked exactly alike. She had fallen in love with not one or the other, but someone that was a combination of the two. And in the meantime, she had come to carry a great dislike for one under a masked identity, as well (although, I must admit, I'd like to know what sort of mask could keep her unsuspecting and unaware of his identity).

Last night, I went to sleep to silence that contrasted heavily with the loud clattering that had persisted last time. And I thought about how uneventful and easy my life must be to her eyes.

But now, looking down from my balcony as she laughs and talks with two identical young men in the bright daylight that shines upon the garden, I think that maybe it doesn't matter how much excitement there was. She'll have more trouble choosing for all the excitement that surrounded her love. In my case, my love had less excitement and complication, but it made my choice that much easier.

As I watch her eyes from afar, however, I believe that one day she will choose the man clad in black. There is a spark that ignites in both their eyes when they meet that she and the white-clad man do not share.

I turned away from the balcony. I had no right to be invading her privacy. I would need to stop thinking about these things—I was turning into an internal gossiping old woman. Perhaps I would see if Leonardo wanted to take a stroll in the gardens with me.

_Author's Note: Yes, I couldn't resist making that nudge at Nadja/Keith. I know, I'm hopeless. Anyhow, I intended the speaker as Julietta if you couldn't tell...and I don't think it could be anyone else unless you did a lot of twisting._


End file.
